


A Tale of Two Princes

by Zhie



Series: Bunniverse [49]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Bunniverse, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-12
Updated: 2017-08-12
Packaged: 2018-12-14 13:31:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11784165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zhie/pseuds/Zhie
Summary: Fëanor is unjustly exiled.





	A Tale of Two Princes

**Author's Note:**

> B2MeM Challenge:B10
> 
> Waters: Lake  
> Sons of Feanor: Maedhros as a Leader  
> First Lines: It was the best of times...  
> Colors: Sky Blue  
> Weather: Cloudy  
> Feanatics: Unjust Exile  
> Talents and Skills: Gardening  
> Life Events: Sex  
> Textures: Smooth  
> It was the best of times, it was the worst of times.

It was the best of times, it was the worst of times.

Fëanor stood on the front lawn. He glared at the back of Indis as she was crouched beside the house. It should not have been her there, he recalled thinking. If not his own mother -- then no one, and certainly not the domestic turned wife of his father. She had been his nursemaid in his youth, his playmate and confidant. How he hated now all the words he had shared with her, all the fears he had in his early years, and all the tears she wiped away when other children called him orphan and sent him home crying. He did not tell her these things to have her ‘fix’ the situation by cheerfully telling him one day that he could soon call her mother.

She would never be his mother.

Forever he would remember that cloudy day, and the color of her dress, a sky blue that seemed to chase off the rain. She was gardening in front of the house, replanting the bulbs that had been taken from the ground and split apart. The lilies were already swaying in the wind, and her hat had been removed; it now was on the grass, weighed down with a rock.

The smooth satin of the blue fabric was beyond perfect; her hair was pulled up, a few tendrils escaping. As he approached, he saw her flushed face in profile, and heard her humming before she heard his footsteps.

He paused before he announced himself, breathing in something faint: the smell of sex. He silently sneered. This woman, who had displaced his mother, was his father’s priority upon return from the completely ridiculous trial. He had considered at least acknowledging her with a nod, but now he simply walked past and into the house, ignoring her voice as she called out to him and scurried up the stairs of the manor.

“Father!” Fëanor stopped in the grand foyer, waiting for someone to answer him. Indis placed a hand upon his shoulder, but he shrugged it away. “Do not touch me, woman!”

“Curufinwë!” Finwë stood at the top of the main staircase, looking down upon his eldest son and his wife. “She knows. I told her when I came home.”

“And yet she makes light of it, playing in the dirt with her flowers, acting as if nothing is wrong with the world.” Fëanor’s jaw twitched, but he made no mention of knowing how she had comforted his father. “I just wanted you to know that I am leaving tonight. I am not going to stay here to be made a fool.”

“How will you cross the lake? It is still half frozen,” said Indis. “You cannot take sled dogs or horses, and what ice is left would put a hole in any boat.”

Fëanor yelled his answer to her, though she was mere inches away. “Then I will walk around it!”

Finwë shook his head and made his way down the steps. “We shall both walk around it if we must,” he said calmly, placing a hand upon his son’s arm.

Fëanor furrowed his brow. “You will… escort me there?”

“I am coming with you into exile. This is unjust, and I will not have any son sent away from me.”

Fëanor blinked, not expecting the act of solidarity. “Then who will be here?”

“Nelyafinwë is old enough. He can run things very capably, and he will have support from Findekáno. Perhaps that will help mend things, if the two of them are in charge for a time. It is only, what, seven years?”

Relief calmed him, and Fëanor embraced his father. He decided not to tell him yet that his own sons were coming as well; he was not about to see the satisfied look he knew Indis would have knowing her eldest son would be left to rule.


End file.
